Broken Chances
by Phoenix Dayze
Summary: What if Zack hadn't died? What if Reno had taken that shot at Cloud? How many things would change? How would the lives of three men be irrevocably changed? AU. EDIT: Complete rewrite underway. Drastically expanded.
1. The Edge of Freedom

Broken Chances  
By: Phoenix Dayze and S.J. Kohl  
PG-13—NC-17

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or its characters. This fic is pure imagination and is for entertainment only.

Chapter warnings: AU, angst, and death

Chapter One: The Edge of Freedom

The hillside rose up in Zack's vision, taunting and real, a monument in its own right. His steps slowed as the dusty ground sloped up, stretching and rolling towards a final, jagged drop-off. The whole place was barren, deserted, and dead. It was nothing special at all really. But Zack remembered this spot far too well.

It was their spot, his and Cloud's. Those long years of suffering had eventually led them here, to the brink of freedom, and a sudden, unexpected conclusion. Zack swallowed hard against the tight knot in his throat as he forced himself to keep moving forward. He was determined to make it to the top this time. The memories of this place couldn't control him forever. He had to take a stand. He had to face it.

A large outcropping of rock loomed ahead of him, and Zack stared at it, a fierce, daunted look on his face. It hadn't been that long since he'd been here. Not really. It may have been years, or merely minutes, Zack couldn't tell anymore. But it still looked the same.

Wiping a wayward tear from his eye, Zack knelt down by the weather-ravaged stone. There was a dark, faded smear across the surface, and Zack reached out a forcibly steady hand and brushed his fingertips over the mark. Tears welled up in his vision again, and Zack choked them back. His chest ached with cold, vicious pain. Breath ragged, Zack pressed his hand against the stain. "I'm sorry, Cloud." Then the dam was broken and the tears did fall, hot and fast, and his voice turned rough with agonizing sorrow. "I'm so sorry! You never should have trusted me! I…I didn't _mean_ to fail you!"

It was there, riding the edge of the wind. The memories, twisted and raw, and whispering...

_Cloud lay limp and far too still in Zack's arms as they made their way up the lifeless hillside, and Zack peered down at him worriedly, hoisting the boy up in his arms. "Come on, Cloud," he whispered in the man's ear, "it's not much farther." _

_He held his breath momentarily, and waited for Cloud to respond. But there was only silence. Their time in the labs had robbed Cloud of his ability to speak and move. Cruel, terrible things had been done to Cloud there, to both of them. To Hojo and his team of scientists, they had been nothing more than test subjects, research. And they were willing to do anything, _anything_ to achieve success. They had inflicted all manners of pain and terror. They had beaten and bruised them, sliced and diced, manipulated and mutilated, raped and tortured. They had used one of them to control the other, hurting Zack to teach Cloud not to scream, making Cloud scream to teach Zack not to fight. It had been a long, fucked-up circle of endless misery. And the worst part was that eventually, they had broken Cloud's spirit. _

Just then, Cloud's foot caught on an outcropping rock, and he stumbled, Zack's secure grip around his waist the only thing that kept him from falling. A pained expression flitted across Cloud's usually blank face and Zack slowed his pace a bit. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he pushed Cloud too hard, despite the hurry they were in. Maybe it was time for a short break. 

_Carefully, Zack lowered Cloud to the ground, reclining him against the semi-flat face of a large rock. He reached out and gently traced the lines of Cloud's face, smoothing away the stress. "It's alright, Cloud. I know you're tired. We'll rest for a bit, okay? Just relax." He brushed the strands of blond from Cloud's eyes. "You don't have to worry. I'm here. I won't let them hurt you anymore, I promise." _

"…Zack…" 

_Zack nearly jumped out of his skin, his heart pounding wildly at the beloved, long-missed voice. He cupped the man's face, staring into his eyes, searching for a sign of recognition, competency, _anything_. "Cloud? Cloud, can you hear me? I'm here, Cloudy."_

_Remarkably, Cloud's eyes slowly began to focus, concentrating on Zack's face hovering over his own. The ghost of a familiar, but nearly forgotten smile washed over his pale features and his lips moved soundlessly as he tried to form the words. "…Zack…I'm here…Zack…" _

_Zack let out a choked sob of relief, chuckling as he ruffled Cloud's hair lovingly. "You really scared me, Kid. You know that? I was starting to think you were mad at me or something."_

_There was another weak smile. "Don't call me…Kid."_

_Nodding, Zack smiled, the first real smile in Shiva knew how long. He gave a final pass through Cloud's hair. "Sorry." Then, "Are you okay?"_

"_Okay." Cloud's fingers brushed faintly against Zack's arm. "Wanted to tell you…" _

"Tell me what, Spikey?" 

"_Tell you that I…" _

A shot rang out, and Zack barreled forward, nearly falling into Cloud. Pain crashed over him, the agonizing spread of a materia charged pulse bullet melting through him. Zack looked down, staring in morbid shock at the gaping hole seared through his body. In some stroke of karmic luck, it had missed his heart, landing squarely between the vital organ and his shoulder. He was vaguely aware of a revving motor in the distance. His assailant was leaving. Or coming closer… He turned back to Cloud. "I'll be right back, Cloud. I…" He stopped dead. "Cloud?"

Cloud was still. Still and quiet, lying just as Zack had left him, but the eyes that had just finally begun to see again were now blank and empty, devoid of everything_, unnatural. Zack blinked in confusion at the thin trail of smoke that curled up from a hole in Cloud's chest that Zack _knew_ wasn't supposed to be there. He was pretty sure that the blackened, bloodied mass _should_ have been Cloud's heart. _

_Slowly the pieces began to fit together, filling in the blanks in his mind, until Zack understood what had happened. It had been a brilliant strategy, one Zack himself may have used had his life been different. What Zack had assumed to be luck, had been nothing of the kind. His attacker's shot had fired straight and true because Zack had not been the target. Zack had been blocking Cloud, so rather than wait for Zack to move, to chance being discovered or losing his opportunity, their assailant had simply aimed _through _Zack. Bang. One shot. One perfect, implausible shot. Game over. Mission accomplished._

_An aching, wrenching pain boiled up in Zack's chest that threatened to rip him in two, and Zack screamed…_

Zack rubbed his fingers absently over the ugly, upraised scar on his chest. It was a constant, painful reminder of what had happened, how he'd failed. A little bit of Cloud's death living inside his skin. It wasn't even close to what he deserved. It was too small, too without sensation, not nearly enough to atone for or pay tribute to the injury he'd caused. Cloud was gone.

But here on the hillside, at the site of his death, something of Cloud still lingered. He was in the earth, on the wind, and his blood was on the stone. Everything that Cloud had been was here, his innocence, his passion, his pain…it all reverberated back to Zack like a never-ending echo. It was almost as though the blast had only dislodged Cloud's spirit from his body and it was still hanging around, waiting to repossess it.

Zack fisted his hands in the loose sand, bowing his head. He closed his eyes, letting the undeniable sensation of _Cloud_ wash over him. The wind howled around him, whispering his name in a voice he could never forget.

_Zack. Zack. Zack._

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I broke my promise!" Saying it wasn't enough; it was never enough, but the words clawed at him, begging to be free. And in the distance,

_Zack. Zack. Zack._

"Please, Cloud…"

_Zack. Zack. Zack._

"Please forgive me!"

But there was nothing. Nothing but the echoing wind and a life filled with empty shadows.

tbc...


	2. Retribution

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

He'd started a business, just like he'd promised Cloud he would. The only promise he'd been able to keep.  
SOLDIER Services. His little stab at Shin-Ra. Zack grinned, a grimacing parody of his once carefree smile. They could strip away everything that mattered to him, could ruin his life and shatter his identity, but they couldn't take away what he was. What they'd made him into. They couldn't leech the inhuman glow from his eyes.

Not that he wanted it. Ever since the labs, ever since he'd discovered exactly what Shin-Ra was, exactly how they'd been "serving" the planet and what they were willing to do even to their loyal employees… Ever since Cloud had died, Zack had wanted to bleed everything that was SOLDIER from his skin, wanted to burn the memory of those years he'd served Shin-Ra from his mind. But…

Cloud. He was a part of those years, too, and Zack could never forget Cloud. Days blended into weeks, weeks into months, and one mercenary job flowed into another, but there was one constant in Zack's life, one bittersweet stream of memories and dreams, nightmares and visions: Cloud. He haunted Zack, whispering in the corners of Zack's mind, urging him to fold deeper and deeper into himself and away from the influences and distractions of the outside world.

Zack had barely spoken an unnecessary word since the day that had earned him the scar on his shoulder. He was a solitary soldier, a renegade First Class taking jobs no one else would dare even consider. The work was dangerous, life-threatening, and Zack was always hoping, in the dim recesses of his mind where Cloud's memory was not allowed to penetrate, that it would kill him.

Brushing that thought from his conscious mind, Zack straddled his bike, a sleek black motorcycle, and slid his sword into the compartment on his right. He didn't deserve death. He'd failed. Miserably, utterly failed. And the only thing that could possibly earn him the right to end his suffering would be to bring down the bastards who had done this to them, to Cloud.

So Zack fought against Shin-Ra, small missions of sabotage and destruction that he coordinated on his own and not at the bidding of any paying client. He did what he could to decimate them, searching, always searching for the sons of whoring bitches who'd fired that single, damning shot.

Slipping a pair of shades into place across his eyes, Zack gunned the engine and took off into the filthy streets of Midgar. It was time for a little retribution.

tbc


	3. Nightmares of Justice

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

A harsh, terrified scream ripped from Reno's throat as he bolted upright, his slumbering demons fading behind his waking eyes. Sweat trickled down his brows as he heaved for breath. He brought a shaky hand up to his head, eyes closing briefly. He trembled. These dreams were supposed to be going away. That was what he was paying the fucking doctors for. To make them gone! Obviously it wasn't working. Nothing ever worked. Reno peeled himself out of the bed, careful of his balance. The last thing he needed was to take another spill because he'd misjudged the control he had over his limbs. He still limped a bit from the last one, the pain the only thing forcing him to admit to himself the impact these dreams really had on him. 

He made his way to the shower, stepping beneath the cooling spray without bothering to remove the thin night pants he wore. He gasped as the icy water pounded against his damp, flushed skin. He braced his arms on the tiled wall, head bowed, letting the rhythmic sensation lull him. Why wouldn't these visions stop? Why did they always plague him? Reno wasn't the type to feel remorse or regret. He didn't care about anything or anyone who didn't directly contribute to his number one goal. Reno. If it didn't help number one, fuck it. A bit callous, but Reno was a Turk, and not only was that how he'd been raised, that was the type of world he lived in. 

But that one job…it just wouldn't leave him. It dredged itself up in the dark hours, taunting him, forcing Reno to feel things he hadn't known he could experience. It'd been a job like any other. Hunt. Apprehend. Destroy. And that's what he had done. He had tracked the two men to a hill outside Midgar, he lined up a shot, and he had taken it. Mission completed. Objective fulfilled. Specimen Z unaware of him, wounded and unable to follow. Specimen C…terminated.

It had been quick and easy. But Reno hadn't been prepared for how it would affect him. Just before he hopped on his bike and zoomed away, he got a clear view of Specimen C's face in his scope. Bile rose in his throat. A child. No more than a child. This was what ShinRa was so desperate to destroy? The wide, staring blue eyes seemed to see into Reno's soul, to look past life, death, and reality and see him. The weary innocence that lined the pale, lax face was morbidly intoxicating. And thanks to him, that innocence would remain unmarred.

It was that face, those eyes that haunted him, forever ravishing his nightmares with visions of the boy still filled with life, edged with hope. Hope that Reno always managed to rip away. He saw the boy in the bloom of manhood, in the blossom of passion, he saw him grown strong, saw the strength of his love. He saw all the things that this boy would never, ever have. And Reno always woke up screaming…

tbc


	4. Bombs Away

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

It wasn't a reactor Zack was after this time, though he'd destroyed a couple of those in the past. It wasn't impossible to do single-handed, just difficult and incredibly risky. He was First Class, after all, the only First Class other than Sephiroth. There wasn't anyone left who could take him out easily. He just had to be careful. Sneaky. Zack shuddered and closed his eyes briefly, his heart throbbing in time with the roar of the bike between his thighs. Cloud had taught him that--stealth. He'd always been so confident and open about everything. It had been Cloud who'd shown him that sometimes a little secrecy went a long way in preserving energy.

But this time he wouldn't need secrecy. What he was after was a helicopter. It would be carrying four high level Turks to Shin-Ra headquarters in Nibelheim, four high level Turks who were guarding information vital to Hojo's latest project, whatever that might be. If Zack had his way, Hojo would never get that information and the Turks wouldn't leave their damned helicopter outside of a body bag.

It wasn't long before he reached his destination. A hilltop just outside Midgar. The hilltop on which Cloud had died. It was the highest point around, and it wasn't far from where the helicopter would be taking off. It would be close to the ground here, close enough for Zack to reach it.

Sliding of the bike, Zack knelt down and pulled a pack from his back, unzipping it and reaching in to grab the small, powerful explosives he'd stashed inside. Something else Cloud had taught him. They weren't his style, really, too impersonal and uncertain. But Cloud had shown him that sometimes bombs were more efficient than blades. Shaking off his sadness and guilt--they would only hinder his present purpose--he assembled the explosives, handling them carefully and efficiently. When everything was ready, he sat down to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. The helicopter appeared low in the distance just as scheduled. The Turks were nothing if not methodically compulsive. As it flew closer, nearing the cliffs' edge, Zack's eyes were drawn to a flash of red inside. A brilliant, copper fire that winked and twisted in the sunlight. Squinting, intrigued, Zack focused his eyes and looked closer. It was hair, he realized, the pilot's hair. Shrugging, Zack tightened his grip on the two small bombs, one in either hand, and shifted into a crouch. As the chopper flew overhead, the wind whirling powerfully in its wake, Zack burst into motion, releasing his burdens in a carefully calculated upward flight. They worked as predicted, sticking to the underside of the black, bulky craft, one just beneath the engine, the other at the junction of tail and body.

Patiently, coldly, Zack waited for the helicopter to move on, propelled it beyond the distance where any shrapnel would chance to fly back in his direction. As he pushed the detonation button, Zack looked up and met the dawning comprehension and recognition in the pilot's eyes as the man looked back at him, crouching alone on the damned, blasted hilltop.

The moment was lost, the eyes torn away as the chopper shredded and blew to pieces, engulfed in angry red flames and roiling black smoke. Smiling grimly, Zack turned and remounted his bike. It was time to go.

tbc


	5. Payback's a Bitch

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

It had been a flash of recognition, then a flash of pain, and then blackness. Consciousness had returned slowly, and the feeling in his body, a searing pain that burned his flesh, but the blackness had remained. Reno could feel the blood seeping out of his veins, coating his skin with a quickly cooling stickiness. He couldn't move his legs and his chest rose and fell with only agony to aid his breaths. He was broken, lost somewhere between Midgar and that fated hilltop. He wished he'd never gone there. Not just because of the pain that now wracked his body, or because of the death that would surely find him here, but because of _him_, Cloud Strife. That, Reno had learned, was Specimen C's name. A boy just barely twenty-one, locked up for five years, experimented on, and trying desperately to escape at last. Reno hated himself for giving the boy the peace he hadn't expected. And then he hated himself for his guilt.

And he hated himself for Zack, Specimen Z, the man whose eyes had connected with his seconds before the chopper had blown, sending Reno to his doom. Zack had been but two years older that his companion, and though he'd been 1st Class, he'd done nothing to deserve the treatment that ShinRa had given him. He hadn't deserved to be hurt, or to see his friend so cruelly ripped from life.

Reno decided that he was something of a bastard. He'd been a slave to ShinRa, letting his job overrule his mind, be ordered around by a company. But not anymore. He gave a wry laugh that stuck and gurgled in his throat. Definitely not anymore. Thanks to Zack, he wouldn't be walking on his crushed legs, would never see through his darkened eyes that were still haunted by the vision of empty blue. He wouldn't even live long enough to know he'd lost these things. He would die here, alone in the dirt, which, if Reno admitted the truth to himself, was probably where he belonged.

tbc


	6. Vision of the Dead

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

Zack tossed and turned in his sleep, his brows furrowed and pinched together, his muscles tense and strained. He felt again the searing pain as the bullet ripped through his flesh, felt the relief at his realization that the marksman had missed what Zack had thought was his target. He heard the wild scream of rage and grief as blood from the body beneath his seeped into his clothing, searing his flesh. Like a vice, comprehension gripped him. Cloud was dead.

"No," Zack whispered, his hands fisting in the cheap hotel bed sheets. "Cloud…"

Blood. So much blood. A stopped heart and a too still body beneath him. "Noo!!!" Zack screamed, his eyes flying open but seeing nothing but the too close, too taunting Midgar skyline just beyond the cliff's edge. So close. So close to freedom. His eyes fluttered closed again as he sobbed into the blood-soaked fabric of Cloud's torn shirt, murmuring broken, unintelligible assurances that it would all be all right. He would take care of it. Cloud was going to be okay. But there was no answer from the still form beneath his heavy frame. Not even the flicker of an eyelash in response.

"No…" Zack whispered through the sobs, his heart pounding in his ears. "No!"

But it was done. Cloud was dead.

Zack lifted his head, his face streaked with Cloud's dark, innocent blood, and he keened, a hopeless, pleading cry of mourning offered up to the depthless blue sky. Cloud was dead. Someone had murdered Cloud.

Zack tossed and turned, shifted and rolled on the cheap metal bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Someone had murdered Cloud. He growled in his sleep, his voice low and rough. Someone had _murdered_ his Cloud! "I'll kill them," he muttered, fingers clenched tightly in the sheets. Blood. Too much blood. No pulse. No breath. No life.

Zack's heart pounded, his breathing shallow, too fast. His eyes rolled and danced beneath their lids and his head tossed back and forth as his body thrashed on the bed, battling itself, beating and bruising. "I'll kill them!"  
With one wild swing of his arm, he overbalanced, crashing loudly against the -cheap hotel carpeting, lost amid a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. A vision of soft, wide blue eyes flowed across his mind, catching him up in the living beauty of it. Blue eyes filled with worry and chastisement. "Cloud?" Zack whispered.

_It's over._ A nearly voiceless whisper.

"Cloud?"

A light, tingling caress ruffled through Zack's black hair and across one chilled, tear-streaked cheek, and the blue eyes vanished as abruptly as they appeared. Zack licked his lips and lifted a hand to press it against his still tingling cheek. "Cloud?"

There was no answer. 

With an exhausted sigh, Zack extricated himself from the tangle of blankets and eased back onto the bed, taking his covers with him. Curling up onto his side, he wrapped the memory of that imagined caress around himself and closed his eyes, praying that he would have no more gruesome visions of Cloud's dead body this night.

tbc


	7. Pleasure in Pain

Broken Chances

By: Phoenix Dayze and S.J. Kohl

PG-13—NC-17

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

Warning: Twisted masochism and self hatred. Blood-pleasure and pain. You've been warned.

Stretching away the night, Zack pulled himself out of bed with a rough sigh. He snarled lightly as he took in the carnage of the covers. He felt vaguely sorry for the maid, but it had been one helluva bad night. The past, Zack decided, was a bitch. But it was apparently going to be his bedmate for a long time to come. Not that Zack deserved any better. It was barely fitting as it was, considering…considering what he'd done. Zack frowned and headed towards the shower. He had to wash away the grime of his ever-plaguing dreams, allow himself at least the pretense of cleaning away his own inner filth.

He made the water hot and punishing, wanting to feel the delicious burn, the searing, tingling, singed sensation that would be left behind once he had scrubbed himself raw. He climbed beneath the harsh spray and hissed as it pelted, unforgiving, against his clammy skin, hot and hard. This was what he wanted. Pain. There was nothing else for him to have in this world. Not anymore.

Empty blue eyes floated across his vision, and Zack immediately felt the pricking of oncoming tears. Last night's haunted caress tickled along the edge of his mind, bringing him a tiny shred of unearned comfort, but it wasn't enough to drown out the magnificent sorrow, or the routine suffering that Zack practiced like a vicious ritual.

Forcing himself to focus on that too damning image, Zack quickly lathered himself up, washing away the sweat of his own inadequacies; he had to be clean for Cloud… He lowered his hand to the column of flesh between his thighs, untouched except for these times. Slowly, tantalizingly, he urged himself to life, letting memories of Cloud's laughing face dance and flutter in his heart. And when he was hard and aching, Zack reached out a knowing, determined hand to seize the razorblade he'd set on a nearby ledge. He closed his fingers around the heated steel with a sigh of anxious anticipation that was glinting with the frost of guilt-laced fear.

Holding his shaft steady with his left hand, he lowered the razor to his oversensitive skin. He closed his eyes as he dragged the sharp edge down the length of his cock with carefully abusive purpose. He hissed as the rich, invasive pain cut into his senses, and he quickly locked his lip between his teeth. He wouldn't cry out. Not this time. Deliberately, Zack raked the blade over his quivering member another five times, leaving six angry, throbbing slices along his sex.

Setting the razor aside, Zack looked down, taking in the morbidly arousing image of his own bloody, mutilated flesh. _This_ was what he deserved. This pain. This release that was more like punishment. He wrapped his hand around the blood-covered organ, welcoming the stinging that came with the sudden pressure on new wounds and the salt of his skin. The images in his head abruptly changed as he began to drag his hand up and down his abused shaft.

_Cloud, lifeless and far too still. Empty, faded blue. A dark, gaping wound that replaced a fragile, yearning heart. His own black sorrow and wretched, damning failure._

Zack's hand moved with furious intensity over his body, squeezing tightly, blood dripping between his fingers as he stroked hard and cruel. _Cloud…forever silenced… _He pressed the edges of his fingernails into the cuts as he passed, molesting the furious wounds with fresh, weeping agony. _Hollow blue…Blackness that spilled out into his hands… _He panted the vibrant, anguished hurt out between lips that still felt that cold, lifeless skin… _A body that looked too much like Cloud, someone he used to know. But that couldn't be Cloud. Cloud was beautiful, and full of life, and kept a niche of laughter hidden deep in his eyes that only Zack knew how to find… _Semen mingled with his blood as it rushed out with shuddering force, bringing Zack to his knees in the stall, one hand flying out to brace against the wall as he let the bitter release score his nerves and swirl away.

Hot, livid tears rained from his eyes, bringing with them hard, choking sobs that spasmed along his form. "Cloud…" He gasped out brokenly, his heart full to bursting with this consuming, unbearable grief that caught him up like a leaf in a storm, swallowed him, and ripped him to shreds. "Cloud…"

Tbc…


	8. Specimen C?

-1Broken Chances

By: Phoenix Dayze and S.J. Kohl

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Vii and I make no profit from this fic.

Part Eight: Journey

Zack bit back a whimper as he ran a towel over the abused flesh betwen his legs, clearing away water and traces of blood. The cuts were deep. He would have to treat them and wrap them before he got dressed, otherwise the bleeding wouldn't stop. Shaking his head, Zack wound the towel around his hips and left the bathroom. Cloud wouldn't like what he was doing to himself. He knew that, but it didn't stop him from doing it. It was his penance, his payment for breaking his promise, for not getting Cloud to Midgar like he should have. And...it drove away some of the numbness. He could feel the pain. It was sharp and cloying. It reminded him he was still human. He was still alive.

_Unlike Cloud._ Zack closed his eyes and sank down onto the corner of the bed. _I'm sorry, Spike._ All those years he'd spent happy and contented, proud of his skill and his contribution to SOLDIER, all those years he'd spent taking pleasure in Cloud's company...he could no longer remember the emotions he'd experienced then. He didn't remember what it felt like to be happy, and he didn't want to remember. Without Cloud...

He jumped as the phone rang, shrill and intrusive. _Without Cloud there is no joy. There is only vengeance._ Taking a deep breath and wondering who could possibly have found him in this shithole hotel, Zack picked up the receiver. "Zackary Fair."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Anyone there?"

A sharp click. Then... "I know who killed Specimen C."

Zack's heart stopped beating for a moment. Who the hell was this? "Specimen C?"

"Specimen C. Cloud Strife. I know who killed him." The voice was low and gravelly, like the speaker was trying to disguise his--or her--tone. 

Zack didn't bother to ask for any information like "Who are you?" or "How do I know I can believe you?" Those lines never worked on calls like this. Whoever was calling him had an agenda and giving away personal information was _not_ on their list. Instead, he said, "So who is the bastard?"

A long pause. "I can't tell you that."

Zack rolled his eyes and sighed. "So what is this, you just want to gloat that you know more than I do?"

A low chuckle. "Not exactly, Specimen Z. I can't tell you who pulled the trigger, but I _can_ tell you where to find him."

"Oh?" Zack picked up a pen from the table beside his bed, a table that held just the phone and a pad of paper, and set the tip to the back of his left hand. He idly doodled a couple of circles. "And where's that?"

"Nibelheim."

"Great. Guess I don't have much time to chat then. Long journey ahead of me." He wrote "Nibelheim" on his hand in all capital letters. "I don't suppose you'd mind telling me how you became such a font of wisdom?"

Another laugh. "When you've been around as long as I have, information isn't that hard to come by."

"Yeah. Whatever." Zack scrawled "pompous jackass" on his skin. "Catch ya later." He jammed the receiver back down in its bed and shook his head, dark amusement flooding through him. He'd spent five years trying to escape from Nibelheim, and now, more than a year after Cloud's death, he was just going to ride right back in. But what else could he do? He didn't have any better information to go on, and he'd been floundering around since the day that shot rang out, struggling to piece everything together and work out who'd done this to them, who'd ruined their only chance at freedom and happiness. He'd exhausted all the leads Midgar had to throw his way. Maybe it was time to try his luck somewhere else. Who knew, maybe his mysterious caller was right and Cloud's killer really was in Nibelheim. Even if he wasn't, ShinRa Mansion was, and ShinRa Mansion had their files locked away in its basement.

Zack smiled, a cold, cheerless smile. Tossing the pen back onto the table, he leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed a roll of bandages and a tube of antibiotic ointment. It was time to go for a ride.

Tbc…


	9. Morgues and Hospitals

Broken Chances  
By: Phoenix Dayze and S.J. Kohl

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII and make no profit from this fic.

Part Nine: Wonder

Everything hurt. That was the first thing Reno had become aware of when he'd woken, quickly followed by, _Why the fuck aren't I dead?_ Apparently some local thrill seeker had dragged his singed, broken ass back to the city and dumped him outside the morgue, which Reno thought was damn considerate…considering. And the morgue people had called the doctor people and said they had a live one, maybe. And now Reno was taped up to every contraption ever invented, and possibly some that weren't. And the pain threatened to choke him every time he breathed. Reno hurt in places he wasn't aware that he _had_ places! And that was saying something.

He silently cursed the bastard who'd saved him. Who'd asked him to anyway? Reno didn't deserve saving! He shot down innocent kids for a living! He gave a wry laugh and instantly regretted it as pain thundered in his head. Apparently laughter wasn't always the best medicine. Figures.

He gingerly tried shifting his body, wriggling his toes, although he knew it would be pointless. That explosion fucked him up pretty damn good, and what the bombs didn't get, the crash did. Reno was a mess. That he knew. He wondered briefly when they'd send some poor bastard in to diagnose him with what he already knew? He also wondered if they knew who he was, because if they did, surely they _knew_ that a Turk would _prefer_ to be dead, and would have pulled the plug on him, being as he was pretty sure he never shagged or murdered any doctor's relatives. A Turk's job was his life. And Reno couldn't work with two busted legs. He _might_ have been able to overcome the blindness that he knew lurked behind the damnably itchy bandages, but as a cripple? Forget it!

Anger rippled through him. That son of a bitch! How _dare_ he do this to him! Especially since short of hiring an assassin, Reno couldn't hunt down and kill the fucker! And really, where was the fun in that? It just wasn't that satisfying if you couldn't see the pain on the little prick's face as you beat the shit out of him. A flash of dark hair, of intense violet eyes flashed in his mind, and Reno growled. _Thanks a lot, yo! You've officially taken down Reno Sinclaire. I hope you're happy. _

Dark hair, violet eyes, the hilltop…it all echoed in his head. Suddenly it all seemed wretchedly familiar, but Reno couldn't quite place the feelings. But it was almost as if he'd seen it all before…

Reno shook his head, and immediately wished that he hadn't. It didn't matter now anyway. All that mattered was getting out of this damn hospital and seeing if he could salvage some sort of a life. Either that, or he was gonna take his electrorod into the bathtub. Reno hadn't decided yet.


	10. On the Move

Broken Chances  
By: Phoenix Dayze and S.J. Kohl

Disclaimer: We do not own FFVII or its characters. This is a nonprofit fic, except for the joy we derive from torturing Reno…

Part Ten: Inhale

With an exhausted sigh, Zack slid off his bike and looked around the alley. It was dark and wet, with the little sunlight that might actually make it through the roofs of the surrounding buildings filtered out by the rain that had followed him all the way from Midgar. Nibelheim was a lot different than he remembered it. It had been six years since the fire, six years since Shin-Ra Corporation had covered up the evidence of their greatest mistake. They had rebuilt the town, bribing the more easily swayed residents into silence with new homes and higher paying jobs. On the surface, the city was beautiful.

Zack snorted. His eyes cold and hard with anger and long-suppressed sorrow, he inhaled a deep breath of the stagnant city air. He could still sense the tang of ash on the wind, flat with hopelessness and sharp with the bitter edge of insanity. Sephiroth had died here for Shin-Ra's sins. Cloud, for all intents and purposes, had died here. They had stripped away his mind and his identity, and they had refused to allow Zack to escape even with what they had left of him. They should have protected him. He had done their work, after all. He had ended the threat they'd created. He'd murdered his hero for them, and they, in turn, had murdered him.

Zack snarled. He couldn't believe he'd fought for them once, couldn't believe how naïve he'd been to think he'd been serving the planet. Protecting people. But he hadn't been protecting anyone but Shinra and his Shiva-damned power. He'd been one of the demons, and he could feel the strength of his demon blood seeping through his veins even now. _Her_ blood. He would bring them down, and her too, but not until he'd gotten the bastard who'd shot Cloud. Viciously, Zack seized a filthy tarp from a trash heap in the back corner of the alley and pulled it over his bike. It wasn't likely anyone would be able to steal it, considering the protections he had on it against hotwiring, but it was better not to flaunt it anyway.

Making his way to the end of the alley, Zack stared out into the empty street, ignoring the cold slide of the raindrops as they fell against his already soaked body. He wasn't really sure where to start. He didn't have much information to go on, just the word of some unknown psycho that Cloud's killer was in Nibelheim. Zack narrowed his eyes. _He called me Specimen Z. That title, combined with Nibelheim…_ Yes, it had definitely been a hint.

Zack frowned. He knew, had always known, that he could find both his file and Cloud's in Shin-Ra Mansion. But he hadn't gone back looking for them. It was dangerous. And he didn't even know what kind of information he would find inside those files. He might find facts about what had been done to them, about why they had _needed_ to kill Cloud and not the SOLDIER First Class who had escaped with him. He might find out who had fired that damning shot.

But he might find nothing. The files might have been destroyed or moved. They might have nothing useful in them. He might get caught again. A thousand, thousand things could go wrong if he returned to the Mansion. But what else did he have to go on?

With a philosophical shrug, Zack hung a left and headed toward the southern end of town. Toward Shin-Ra Mansion.

tbc...


	11. Where's Reno?

Broken Chances  
By: Phoenix Dayze and S.J. Kohl

Disclaimer: We do not own FFVII or its characters. This is a nonprofit fic, except for the joy we derive from torturing Reno…

Part Eleven: Challenge

Rufus Shinra hung up the phone with a small smile. He hoped that it had been enough. He hadn't told the SOLDIER much, but maybe…just maybe the guilt, coupled with the need for vengeance would send the man on his way. It was, after all, the least he could do. It had been his father who had issued the order to kill the young blond, following the advice given to him by his head scientist, Hojo, but Rufus still hadn't managed to figure out why. What was so important—so dangerous—about a kid his age that made so many people wish him dead? Rufus didn't know, but he was determined to find out, and he was going to do his damnedest to help the dead boy's friend find what he was looking for. But he had to be careful. There were spies all over his father's company, and he was constantly watched by someone, usually the Turks.

The Turks. Now that was someone who might help him. Reno had been one of the few people he'd trusted around here, and too his benefit, his father had trusted him too, which meant that Reno might know something. But the man had disappeared after the accident that had nearly killed him, costing him his eyes and his legs. Hojo and his team had worked with the doctors on his father's payroll to do everything possible to restore the Turk to his former glory, but in the end, they hadn't been able to alter his condition. The damage was too extensive to repair.

But even though Reno could no longer work in the field, he was still a Turk, and a damn good one. The question was, where would he have gone? He'd left the hospital in the middle of the night a little over a week ago and hadn't been seen since. His father had sent out a search team, thinking that they would pick him up in mere hours. After all, how far could blind cripple get on his own? Rufus smiled. They should know better than to underestimate a Turk. Especially Reno.

Rufus sprawled back in his chair in a very undignified manner. Now, if he were Reno, and he was busted to hell and back, pissed off to the point of suicide, and trying to hide from his father, where would he go? The natural answer that came to mind was, "the last place they would look." But where was that exactly?

He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and sighed. _Where are you, Reno? I need your help with something. Surely you left some clue…_ Reno was…Reno. He was harsh and annoying. He was dedicated, and threw himself into things completely, even if he did come off as lazy and nonchalant. He had a round-about way of looking at things that tended to throw others for a loop, and he had an uncanny way of oversimplifying things…

Rufus frowned. That was it! To find the last place Reno would expect anyone to look for him you simply had to go back a step, to the first place you would look for him, because Reno would know that the obvious place was _too_ obvious for SOLDIERs, Turks, and Shinra to find him.

Reno was still in Midgar. But where?

tbc...


	12. A New Job

Disclaimer: We don't own FFVII. We just like tormenting Squenix's boys.

Reno stumbled as he jammed his shoulder into the corner of the counter. This was _his _apartment, damn it! He should know where everything was by now. Cursing, he clutched wheels of his chair and carefully made his way around the counter and into the kitchen. It was fucking black in there. It was black everywhere. And it was a damned pain to learn to maneuver a wheelchair around a house in complete darkness.

A wheelchair. Reno fucking Sinclaire had been reduced to hauling himself around in a hideous plastic chair. He didn't have to see to know he looked pathetic as all hell--face scarred, eyes blank and glazed, skin red and cut up, legs limp and lifeless. He was a bloody mess.

And somewhere...somewhere there was a man he could thank for his condition. It didn't matter though. Reno couldn't even leave the apartment without the Turks finding him, so how the hell was he supposed to track down a single, nameless man when all he had to go on were dark hair and purple eyes? Reno laughed bitterly and rolled himself over to the refridgerator. He cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if listening. Then he sighed in resignation and popped open the door to the fridge to feel around for a beer. Closing his fist around a cold can, he pulled it out and popped it open. He looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, Rufus?"

Rufus chuckled from his position at the edge of the kitchen. It had been easy to find Reno. Why wouldn't the man go back to his apartment, after all. It had been checked, of course, but it wasn't like anyone was keeping a steady watch on it. But Rufus should have known he wouldn't have been able to sneak up on Reno, even in this condition. "Why haven't you come back to work?"

Reno snorted and took a swig of his drink. He grimaced. "Soda. I told that fucking kid to put the soda on the second shelf and the beer on the first. Bastard." Shaking his head, he tossed the soda over his shoulder toward Rufus and reached into the fridge for another can, grabbing one from the bottom shelf this time. He should have gone for the drinks himself, but he couldn't really leave, not even to go to the store. Not until they stopped looking for him. Dropping the can into his lap, he shoved the refridgerator door closed and spun his chair around to face Rufus. He held the can up. "Beer this time?"

Rufus nodded and took a sip of the soda he now held in his hand. He frowned when he remembered Reno couldn't _see _him nod. Rufus cleared his throat. "Yeah, Reno. It's a beer."

Sighing, Reno took a long drink. "You aren't stupid enough to come here and ask me about work."

"No." Rufus made his way through the room and hopped up onto the countertop, propping his feet on the arm of Reno's chair. "I can to ask you for help."

Reno laughed. "And what kind of help can I possibly give you, boss man?"

"A Turk is a Turk, Reno. Even minus legs and eyesight. I have a job for you."

"I can't do field work. And I'm not working behind a fucking desk," Reno snarled.

"It's not that kind of job." Rufus sighed. He'd known from the beginning that this wouldn't be easy. "I want you work with me on something."

Reno took another pull on his beer. "Like what?"

Rufus smiled. "I want you to help me bring down my father."


End file.
